


Our Lives Carry On

by DamnthatGeko



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sad, saying goodbye and meaning it, set after Lost Light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamnthatGeko/pseuds/DamnthatGeko
Summary: Megatron writes his biography before the end. Rewind publishes it afterwards. Life carries on.
Relationships: Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers), Megatron/Minimus Ambus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Our Lives Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> This song  and rereading the end of Lost Light inspired this little story.

_You flare, you flicker, you fade. And in the end all your tomorrows become yesterdays._

– _Megatron of Tarn, published under a pseudonym_

Minimus Ambus is shaken, Rewind can see it clearly. He's seen it before in the way Chromedome rolls his shoulders after surgery on the deceased, although it has been years. He remembers it on fresh and veteran soldiers alike after battle, although it has been even longer. He has seen it in himself in a dead ship with a slaughtered crew, it hasn't been long enough.

Minimus wears his distress like a gaping wound. It's like he's trying not to look at himself, if he doesn't, it can't actually be real. He wears it like denial. But he's leaking pain all over Rewind's doorstep and it would be criminal to at least not ask why.

"Hello Rewind, can I have a few moments of your time?"

"Oh, yes- of course."

Not all stories get a happy ending. By Primus, he's seen enough of them to know. It's a curse and a blessing as a historian, he isn't expecting a perfect ever-after for himself or his loved ones.

They stay close to the door. Rewind retreats back into his and Chromedome's hab. He stops by his still active workstation, feeling the static from the warm machines on his servotips.

Minimus is awkward, he stands a few paces away from Rewind and taps his fingers on the datapad he's carrying. He's practically gushing anxiety all over the floor. He's so much more expressive without the suit. All the tiny movements he's making must have been dulled by the layers of armor, his individuality smoothed away by an assumed identity.

"You know, the- the confinement was today."

Rewind does know. Chromedome had mentioned it over their morning energon. It was spoken casually but nothing about the tautness of their frames or the lack of other conversation spoke of two relaxed mechs. Indefinite confinement in spark isolation until either the death of hadeen or extinguishment. Rewind wonders if execution would have been kinder.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry Minimus, I know you hoped-"

"Oh no, it was all decided a long time ago through due process. We all knew this was coming, it was just a matter of the right facilities."

"That's not what I meant."

Minimus can't meet his optics. He's a practiced liar, but only to himself. He has been the law so long that when it rips his life to pieces he can't help but thank it for its service. Rewind wishes irrationally that Rodimus had stuck around, he needs someone who could grind their heels into protocol, to delineate emotion from edict for Minimus.

But Rewind is the one here, he's one of the few that stayed close, and he isn't Rodimus.

"He wanted you to have this."

Minimus holds out the datapad he has been carrying, it's slightly too big for him and it wobbles in the air.

"What is it?" Rewind has to leave the workstation to receive it with two servos from Minimus. It's cold and heavy against his frame.

"It's an autobiography of sorts. I think there are some essays and some poetry in there as well. He wanted you to… to publish it as you see fit."

"Oh, thank you. I'll read through it and see what I can do. Last time Megatron published anything it started a civil war, so I might do some editing."

It's an attempt at a joke. But it hurts too much. Everything is too raw for laughter. Maybe one day they will be able to. Maybe one day Minimus will laugh, period. Looking at him now, with his shadows thick and smothering him where he stands on a sunny afternoon, that day is centuries away. Rewind regrets his choice of words. He’s exacerbating the pain. He’s used to comforting Chromedome, not the former duly appointed enforcer of the Tyrest Accord.

Minimus takes him seriously

“He trusts -trusted- you to tell his story. Do what you think is best, Rewind. He wanted someone from the Lost Light to do it.” _Someone who knew him when he was trying to balance the scales._

Their time on the Lost Light was the space of a breath in the grand scheme of the universe. Then why did it feel like it had changed everything? It was a pearlescent memory amid the slate stone of life. Would it be as precious if it hadn’t been temporary? It had changed enemies to friends, friends to lovers, law keepers to individuals, warriors to tyrants, and tyrants to whatever Megatron is now.

“I’ll do my best Minimus, I promise.”

Minimus nods sharply, his servos clench and relax. _Careful, you’re showing how much you care, you’re showing how much you changed._

"Did you talk to him before…?” _Before they froze his spark and melted his frame._

“Yes.” He looks away again. Rewind has exaggerated his wound, he has made it so Minimus can’t ignore it. “I did. He said goodbye.”

That’s a conversation he’ll never have a record of. He wishes he did. What a weapon of peace that would be, what a narrative of forgiveness. But such things are too private to be used like that. No matter how bitter a pill it is to swallow, those things are precious too. Precious and wretched. Endings. Endings that should have been beginnings.

"We should visit the museum down the block together soon, they have a wing on the history of typography that just opened." _Let us patch up your wound Minimus, let me, and Chromedome, and everyone contribute a patch, a seal, a clamp, some paint. Let us heal you._ Is what he wants to say.

"Thank you Rewind, I'll let you know."

But the wound is just a metaphor, and the crew of the Lost Light is scattered when Minimus needs them the most. He'll just have to keep living. If anyone can patch a wound on their own it's him, he's done it before, he can do it again.

"I'll get you an advanced copy," he assures.

"Thank you," there are no tears, yet.

Minimus' life must go on.

In the silence after Minimus leaves but before Chromedome returns from his errands, Rewind works up the nerve to look at the datapad. It's an old model with a thick display created for large frames. It's suddenly a sacred artifact in his small servos, the memento of a great and terrible life. It turns on with a flicker.

There's a note for him.

\---

You mentioned years ago now, that you wanted to write Optimus’ biography. I’m sure my story is a poor substitute in comparison. There aren't many good things I’ve done in my life. I’ve spent so much time destroying, that creation was strange to me for a long time. It’s amazing what a few years, a ship, and an alternate universe can do to you. There aren't many good things I’ve done in my life, and soon there will be no more chances to even the score, to make amends. But maybe, just maybe, someone can read about me and make different decisions. Maybe I will make them wiser. Maybe I will make them kinder. Maybe I can still keep doing good.

Thank you Rewind.

\--

"You published it with the note he left for you?" Chromedome remarks as he scans through the first couple pages.

Rewind looks up from his work. "I did. It took a while to decide if I should leave it out or not. But in the end, I think it said more about who he became than anything else he wrote."

Chromedome crosses to where Rewind sits at his terminal and touches his shoulder. He covers the other mech’s servos with his own, enjoying the close hum of his conjunx's systems.

"You did good, love. Don't work too late," and just like that, their lives carry on.


End file.
